


Sunset Yellow (E110)

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Accidentally High, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Barebacking, Begging, Comedy, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drugged Sex, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Food, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Singing, Smut, incoherent swearing, lots of it too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: When Eggsy's injured on a mission, Kingsman's medical department use him to test out experimental new painkillers with some very interesting side effects.Harry takes good care of him.





	Sunset Yellow (E110)

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated with many thanks to everyone who has cajoled me through writer's block lately. 
> 
> Warning here for sex under (mild) drug influence - of the deliberate and consensual sort, but if that idea upsets you this is probably not the fic for you.

Sunset Yellow (E110)

 

“How are you feeling, Eggsy? Are you comfortable?” 

It's a reasonable enough question to direct at someone who’s been sent home to recuperate from a gunshot wound to the thigh - bulletproof suits only so much use to bundle up and shield the vital organs when one is ambushed in the shower, as it turns out - and Harry could have expected a reasonable answer. 

“I'm a samosa.” 

“A samosa,” Harry repeats, for the sake of clarity. “Not a burrito?” He's become used to Eggsy and Roxy’s post mission ‘burrito days’ spent nestled side by side in separate duvets watching mindless television;  have called it being a sausage roll, as a small child tucked in with blankets on all sides, but he imagines the principle is similar. Nonetheless, Eggsy is adamant on this occasion that he is in fact a samosa and Harry is not about to argue, because Eggsy is, to use his own parlance, off his tits on pain relief. 

“Nah, cos I'm all...triangular. Look.” He gestures to the angles of his knees where his legs are crossed up, with the blanket folded around them. Harry isn't sure how he even sits like that, but he looks comfortable enough and it's obviously not putting any undue stress on the wounds or he'd hear all about it. He doesn't seem distressed in any way. If anything, he seems almost blissfully relaxed. 

“How are those painkillers, darling?”

“Fuckin’  _ mint.” _

Eggsy’s allergy to almost all opiates had been one of a number of factors leading Kingsman’s medical department to push forward with experimental analgesics - (“Ahaha! Look, it says anal,” Eggsy had grinned after his first dose, thrusting the label under Harry's face) -  because bog standard paracetamol was obviously not going to cut it in the eventuality that he was mission-wounded. Once he'd been tested and re-tested to ensure Morgana’s latest wonder-painkillers wouldn't pitch him into anaphylactic shock or turn him into a blueberry, they’d been kept in stock for the proverbial rainy day, and it had turned out not to been a moment too soon when he'd been unceremoniously shot in the leg. Satisfied after a night’s observation to safeguard against any sudden adverse reaction, Morgana had sent him home with Harry and hand-labelled white bottle of sunset orange pills. (“They're the colour of  _ joy, _ Harry. Of  _ mercy,”  _ as he'd tipped a couple into his face in the back seat of the car on the way home from hospital, swigged them down with Fanta and promptly passed out against the window.)

“Excellent.”  Even if Harry weren't overwhelmed enough with relief to have him safe and apparently not suffering that he'd put up with  _ anything _ , getting to fuss over Eggsy whilst he convalesces, doped to the gills, happily babbling about the television and whatever pops into his head is quite lovely. He had been playing Assasins Creed until Harry had pointed out that he was just watching his character walk around  in a hedge for the best part of twenty minutes and laughing. “You let me know if you want anything to eat or drink or anything.”

“Kind of want a samosa now I've said it.”

“I'll order in.”

Eggsy spends their lunch enthusing that everything is the best he’s ever had it, had they changed their recipes, how did he not realise he was  _ starving _ ,  and it’s another warm reassurance to see that his appetite is healthy - nasty business, femoral injuries, Harry has been worried sick - although his next dose of painkillers going in on a full stomach does not seem to lessen their impact at all. After an hour of increasingly visible discomfort, of Eggsy getting paler and more obviously tense, Harry’s watch pings like a microwave to tell him he’s due another dose and Harry hands them over with a cold bottle of water that Eggsy gratefully, distractingly, rolls over his flushed face and down his neck before he opens it to swig from. Playing nurse to Eggsy,  waiting on him and distracting him for twenty minutes or so until the drugs kick in is no hardship at all: Harry relaxes as he watches Eggsy relax; sees the rigidity seep from his posture and his uncomfortable shifting roll into soft squirming. Eggsy drags his hands over his face and down his body, pushes his weight back into the cushions and sighs.

“Are you feeling any better?” 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” A dopey smile spreads across his face as he wiggles in his nest of pillows and his new fleece blanket - Harry  _ might  _  have overdone the the pampering thing but Eggsy obviously appreciates it and just  _ look  _ at him, face pink and hair fluffed up without a trace of product in it. He's not got properly dressed in days. “Yeeeeah. Ain't gonna lie, Harry, these tablets are well fun. It still hurts a bit, but I can deal with it and I don't feel sick or itchy like with the others. Just all warm and floaty and stupid. Plus they taste like when you lick the outside off M and Ms.”

Harry tries not to visualise that particularly distracting habit. He'd normally snap off Eggsy calling himself stupid but he  _ had _ managed to put his hand in his cup of tea instead of his crisp packet a couple of hours ago and take a good minute to realise what was wrong.  Harry picks up the bottle and eyes the pills deliberately. “I’m sure they banned this colour some time in the nineties, you know. I'm not even sure you're high on anything but E numbers at this point. They could be a placebo, all sugar and -” Eggsy hasn’t been listening since the beginning of the sentence: he's staring wistfully, longingly into a far corner.

“Awh, Harry-” its that wheedling tone that's going to proceed being asked to do something inconvenient and for fuck’s sake, the way Eggsy is rolling around and stretching out to show his tummy where his shirt rides up, possibly deliberate... he's going to do it, isn't he? “I could  _ well _ go a Slush Puppy.”

Harry wants to tell him not to be ridiculous, that he's not walking through to the fucking Natural History Museum to buy Eggsy a fucking Slush Puppy, that he doesn't need a massive dose of sugar and food colourings when he can barely move, but if he goes to the kiosk in the park he can take the dog out at the same time, he supposes, and what comes out is a sigh and “red or blue?”

“Blue.”

Harry’s clipping JB’s lead on when a voice calls out from the sofa. “Actually, red!”

“I'll get them to do half and half.”

Eggsy makes a noise Harry has only heard him make in the bedroom, and then rarely, in pure bliss. “Harry, you're a legend.”

He feels like he deserves that accolade for his patience. The woman in the refreshments kiosk smiles at Harry's slush-fussiness, puts two and two together.

“Pregnant missus?”

Harry takes great delight in informing her, with the blankest face he can muster, that his boyfriend has the munchies. To her credit she continues telling him that she'd have promised her daughter away at birth for Skips dipped in Nutella in her third trimester, and slips him a packet of popping candy with his change when he pays. 

“That’ll blow his mind.”

It does, as it happens.

"Oh my days, Harry, I ain't had this shit since like, year eight." Which is nowhere near as long ago as Harry feels like it should have been, but no matter: Eggsy grins widely and entertains himself pouring effervescent little lines of it onto his tongue and sticking the mess out at Harry so he can hear it snapping until he abruptly finds that he's exhausted and goes softly quiet. 

Against all odds, Harry actually manages to get quite a bit of work done whilst Eggsy naps, comforted by the way he wakes up occasionally, makes pleased noises at the fact JB is snoozing on his crossed legs, snuggles in his blankets or takes another sip of his thoroughly melted Slush Puppy and then goes back to sleep. Harry's deep in concentration and only realises Eggsy’s awake when he hears him singing the wrong words to Barry Mannilow to him from the hallway. 

Harry smiles to himself. It’s a sure sign that Eggsy’s succumbing to the influence: he often finds himself serenaded with spontaneously personalised anthems when Eggsy’s had a few drinks. Last time they’d been out for cocktails he’d heard ' _ you can be the boss, Harry'  _ from the shower and been smoothly Lana Del Rey-ed into bed; ' _ Mustang Harry'   _ is a particular favourite and once, when he was spectacularly sozzled, they ended up with ‘ _ Harry ‘cross the Mersey’.   _ And on this occasion Harry has not in fact come and given without taking, but he would kiss Eggsy and stop him from shaking any time, probably has, so he doesn’t argue.

Harry keeps pretending he's working until Eggsy's right behind him, pressing warm and solid up against his back, which feels lovely but he ignores the twitch that triggers: one does not proposition an invalid, which means it has been a few days since they were more intimate than Harry helping Eggsy into the shower, which in itself makes the whole not-propositioning thing its own special challenge.

It doesn't seem as though it will be a challenge he needs to face for a lot longer, though, if the way Eggsy is shifting against his back is anything to go by. Eggsy murmurs something Harry doesn't catch and starts running his fingers through Harry's hair, pushing it out of its parting and then back. It feels wonderful.

Harry closes his laptop. He enjoys the impromptu head massage, certainly, but he’s aware there may be some other reason Eggsy wants his attention: perhaps he’s wary of how much help he’s asking for, and wants to repay some tenderness before he has to rely on Harry again. it’s not necessary, of course, but Harry won’t stop him. 

“Do you need something, sweetheart?”

“You? Your hair is just like… its so soft but not soft. Like…  _ ugh. _ I just needed to get in here.” Eggsy's voice is thick, deep and lazy, and belies some more earnest motivation for the petting.  His fingertips press into Harry's scalp and draw back to the nape of his neck, forward to his hairline and then back again. “Mmm.”

Harry tips his head back. The touch is sending little prickles of bliss down his back, and for how relaxing it is it's strangely arousing. “This is rather lovely. Shouldn't I be the one making you feel good?”    


“Just allow it, yeah? This  _ does  _ feel good.”  He can tell, somehow: there's a crackling other than static in the brush between them, in the wondrous urgency of Eggsy's hands. He nuzzles in at Harry’s temple, sniffing, rubbing his nose into Harry’s hair. “it's getting me a bit hot to be honest.”

That makes two of them, but only one really makes any sense. “My  _ hair _ ?” 

“Yeah. Everything.” He looks at Harry, suddenly serious.  “Do you want a blowjob?”

The abrupt change of tack makes Harry almost choke on nothing although to be fair Eggsy looks about as surprised by this turn of events as Harry is. Reflexively, he wants to tell him he’s not in a fit state, but the sudden hunger in the darkness of his eyes says that might just be exactly the state he's in now. 

When Harry looks properly, Eggsy's chest glimmers with heat, highlighting the definition that's barely starting to blur with a week’s worth of junk food and inactivity. His pupils are blown, the scant remaining green of his irises dark and glassy; his pyjama trousers - lounge pants, insists the shop now for reasons Harry does not quite understand but he supposes is apt in this instance - do nothing whatsoever to disguise his erection, and the tenting effect should be comical but Harry finds his mouth has dried out. 

“Perhaps we should get you to bed.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I meant-”

He'd meant that it would probably be wise for Eggsy to sleep it off, but Eggsy bolts up the stairs faster than Harry feels like is sensible on a wounded leg. Along with being entertaining, those painkillers seem to be enormously effective: he’ll note that in the observation logs he is loosely supposed to be keeping, though he suspects they might be about to go to hell in a hand basket, at least for a few hours. 

When he reaches the bedroom, Eggsy is already face down on the bed, but Harry is spared so much as a second’s panic by the way he's squirming around on the top of the duvet.

“Mmmph, _oh_. Did we get new sheets?” The breathless gasp doesn't suit the innocuous topic: Eggsy almost moans it and Harry's cock responds accordingly. The way his wriggling thrusts his pert arse in the air doesn't hurt either, and Harry sincerely, selfishly hopes this is going the way it appears to be. 

“We did. Do you like them?” He bloody should do, Harry's put a small fortune down on highest threadcount unbleached organic Egyptian cotton he could find, and it would be worth every penny for his own personal fussiness but this… Eggsy smushing his face into the pillowcases, rubbing his cheek against the cool linen and pulling at a corner to stroke it over his lips, writhing around like it’s all bringing him some unspeakable sort of pleasure... is something else altogether. Heavens help him.

Rather than answering, Eggsy  _ purrs _ , a long rolled ‘rrrr’ sound from his throat, flashing a dirty smirk over his shoulder as he grinds his hips into the bed. He's promptly hoisted on his own proverbial petard as that obviously feels every bit as good as he might have anticipated, were his brain working, and Eggsy loses himself in rutting down, swept up in the friction, groaning at the sudden bliss of it in a way that strongly suggests he would and could simply hump the mattress until he comes if left to his own devices. 

Harry can't help but tease. “Have you gone into heat, or something?”

Eggsy pauses and opens one eye at him.  “Have you been reading weird porn on the internet again?”

Fair point. “I'm not the one getting amorous with a fitted sheet.”

“It's not that, it's everything. It's me.” Eggsy flops grandly over onto his back and gives Harry an uninterrupted view of his flushed, gleaming chest, his nipples peaked into tiny dark points, and his raging erection.  “Everything feels… I just want to  _ touch _ . My skin’s all ...tingly.  And I'm so fucking hard. Feel this!”

“I can see.”

“No but like, feel. Like that.” He grabs Harry by the wrist and lays his hand on himself over the hot, damp cotton of his boxer shorts,  outlining the shape by drawing his touch along until he's rolling the palm of Harry's hand over the head of his cock through the fabric. “Mmm, Yeah. Oh… oh God no Harry, stop.”

Harry pulls back in concern, and Eggsy blows out a shaky breath. “Thought I was gonna blow my load then.”

“Already?”

“Oi, wind it in. Some of us are in our fuckin’ prime here, yeah?”  He puts his hand against the front of his boxers and grips his own cock experimentally, giving it a cartoonishly quizzical moment’s thought, head tilted to one side whilst he works out what he's experiencing. Whatever it is, the look on his face says he likes it. “Oh. Not that close, but that was like… normally it don't feel quite like that til I'm almost there. Dunno what's going on with this but I ain't complaining. Feels lovely.” He throws himself back down into pillows and rucked-up duvet again and squirms. 

Harry follows Eggsy’s path to where his fingertips are tracing - perhaps unconsciously - in little patterns up and down the centre of his chest, and takes over: Eggsy whimpers softly and arches, pressing up against Harry’s touches and back into the softness of the bed at the same time. 

“Oh  _ shit.  _ Harry. It feels like my  _ skin _ ’s gonna come. This is mental. Come on.”

His frankness - as well as his enthusiasm - is arousing in itself. Harry suspects at times that eggsy might  _ still be  _ holding back for fear of appearing demanding when Harry wants nothing more than to give him whatever he wants, however he wants it, but In this state he just might ask. Harry kneels on the edge of the bed to pull him gently up into a kiss.

“What  do you want, my darling?”

“I want you, Harry Hart,” it's serious, almost romantic, biting his bottom lip, but he’s not finished -   “to bang me like a bin lid in  _ Stomp. _ ”

It takes Harry a long breath to compose himself, his lips twitching and giving him away, not that Eggsy notices or cares.

“You're sure that’s not just the painkillers talking…?”

“Oh don't get all funny about consent and shit. It ain't like it's out of nowhere for me to get a bit cock-hungry when I'm mashed.”  That’s true enough, and if Eggsy’s in possession of the clarity to realise that'll be worrying him that’s very reassuring . Eggsy's warm smile twists into a grin as he realises he's half got his way already, with so little resistance. “Nah,ook, you don't have to, if it’s worrying you… but I'm definitely gonna. Might help myself to the toybox. If you wanna sit on your hands in the corner, that's your beef, but I reckon it's gonna get wild.”    


Harry is accosted, in a lightning speed montage, with images of Eggsy making use of every sex toy they own whilst Harry himself watches from a chair beside the bed, hands cuffed behind him, unable to touch or do anything to relieve his own painful excitement. But that's not what's on the cards. He's being offered the chance to play with Eggsy's cross-wired senses; to touch his already blissed-out body and potentially to take the credit for a chemically enhanced sexual experience which, if the state of him already is anything to go by, is shaping up to be mindblowing.  And he has neither the strength nor the inclination to turn that down. Plus, Eggsy could hurt himself in the attempt to deal with his sudden hunger on his own, and what sort of care would Harry be taking of him then? 

“Think these pills are proper mad though.  _ Everything  _ is turning me on. And I just wanna…” ...nothing, no answer to what he wants to do, possibly because every idea feels better than the last and Harry watches a few enjoyable daydreams flash across Eggsy’s face after he trails off. “You want a couple? That could be fun…” his fingers are tracing up and down Harry's forearm, his gaze fixed on Harry's lips. It's far too coy a seduction for him, but it's still guiltily effective. 

“I'll pass. I can look after you better with a clear head.” It's not an intentional double entendre but it comes out husky and possessive, and Eggsy's eyes scan over Harry shamelessly as he wets his lips with his tongue. 

“Bet you will. Yeah. I'm going to go shower and get myself ready and stuff.”

It's like all the coyness has dropped from his speech, the minimal filter he keeps in place gone completely and replaced with a guileless hunger, and with his compunctions set firmly aside Harry cannot wait to hear how that develops as the night goes on.

“Shout if you need anything or feel wobbly. Don't lock the door.”

That’s pointless, really, they both know he'd be in there in a heartbeat regardless of the lock  if he thought Eggsy might be in danger but Eggsy leaves the door ajar anyway and Harry listens to the rumble of the shower and then the stilted splashes as Eggsy gets in; to his happy little murmurs at the warm massage on his hyper sensitive skin, chasing away any last remnants of pain; to an excited “ooh!”, the snap of a bottlecap and then a softly laughed “wow” when he finds the new rhubarb and custard shower gel. It's that which makes Harry feel like he could burst with fondness - into tears or out of his skin, he isn't sure - because he bought it knowing the concept would amuse Eggsy and his simple, childlike delight at it is too much to bear. Harry thanks a god he doesn't believe in for bringing Eggsy home safe and well enough to be patched up, and then a different one altogether for the image of him naked, wet and lathering himself up with shower gel. 

And the patching up itself, well… it's novel getting to pamper Eggsy whilst he recuperates, to be forced to step back from the madness that is their overlapping professional life to do nothing at all in the cocoon of their home for a few days. It will drive them both mad, in time, and as soon as Eggsy is safe to be left alone Harry will return to the office before frustration kicks in and they start snapping at each other, but for now it's a strange delight. More pressingly, Harry has to reason with the sharp twist of arousal that reminders of Eggsy's disinhibited state keep causing in him.  He's superfluously beautiful, all loose limbed and languorous, pliable and pleasure-seeking and Harry just wants to give him every bliss possible, to spend the night teasing him and making his senses sing, to see how many orgasms that touch-hunger might translate into with the right encouragment … 

Harry is snapped out of his dreaming by a moan from the shower.

“You alright in there?”

“Oh, I'm  _ fine. _ ” And it's followed by an almost purred “Mmm”, a hitch of breath, and then a gasp. 

Harry swears, clenches and relaxes his fists and finds Eggsy some clean pyjamas. The ones he picks up to put in the wash basket - stepped out of on the way to the bathroom -smell of blood and TCP and fresh but fevered sweat and Harry has to jam them in the basket as the shower shuts off lest Eggsy catches him sniffing his clothes again. 

The Eggsy that emerges from the shower smells fruity and sugary and looks easily twice as edible as he smells, with little rivulets of water still beading down his muscles, but the dousing has evidently done nothing to clear his head. 

“That shower gel is  _ magic _ , Harry. Feel how smooth my skin is, I'm all soft!” He sounds vaguely awestruck and is quickly distracted by his own hands rubbing up his biceps… and who can blame him? Harry doesn't have the heart to tell him that he feels no different, to the touch; that he has not in fact found the secret to eternal youth but may in fact just be a bit drug addled. He just kisses him on the proferred bit of arm.

“Do I taste like sweets?”

“You taste like soap.” 

Eggsy’s momentarily heartbroken expression evaporates into a bright, soft smile when he realises this is not stopping Harry kissing up his arm.

“Oi Gomez. Pack it in,” but he’s laughing, a silly, unselfconscious giggle that turns into a surprised moan as Harry grazes teeth on his shoulder, nips gently at his neck. He's always sensitive there, likes to be bitten until he bruises although Harry doesn't indulge that often, but the sudden sharp moan Eggsy makes then would be better suited to the moment just before orgasm, and Harry’s barely started on him. “Shit, this is going to be fun. Wow.”

...well, Harry’s sentiments exactly. He finds Eggsy's pulse with his lips and sucks at it. To hell with it: Eggsy is all but housebound anyway, it doesn't matter if he's covered in love bites, and Harry wouldn't be able to refuse the noises he's making in response anyway. He can feel Eggsy's whine rumble against his teeth. 

“ _ Harrrrryyyyy.  _ Come on.”

“Patience,” Harry teases, squeezing Eggsy’s arsecheek and going in for another mouthful of his neck.

“No, Harry, now. Seriously. I… like, I need it. I need you in me like an hour ago.”

Want sears through Harry's guts, but he tries not to let it show through in case any of Eggsy's thrill hinges on him being in control though he doubts it, chiefly because Eggsy distinctly takes the lead then, pulling away and turning around to fold himself over the end of the bed without a hint of embarrassment. He’s rarely shy, but ‘shameless’ is a terribly wonderful look on him. Lubricant shines in a stripe between his spread arse cheeks, glinting from the pink creases of his hole, and he wriggles; shaking his arse just slightly at Harry in case the fact he's standing like he's turned to stone is because he's forgotten what he's supposed to be doing. 

“Bloody… fuck, Eggsy, are you going to be like this all evening?”

“Not if you get on with it, yeah? Done half the work for you, look.”

Harry can see that, and that's mostly why he spends that moment catatonic.

Snapping out of his daze and into action, he bundles Eggsy’s legs up so he's kneeling in a wide spread on the bed and oh, how easily he goes; how happy he sounds at the delayed realisation that he's going to get exactly what he wants. Perhaps he can feel that a switch has been thrown in Harry: gentleman though he may strive to be, they both know there’s only so much temptation Harry can weather before a different animal entirely comes to the surface, and Eggsy always loves that, let alone when he's in this sort of mood.  Harry leaves him set out and inviting for just a second whilst he yanks the drawer open, grabs a bottle of lube, forgoes the condom box - trading easy cleanup later for speed  _ now -  _ and slicks a wet handful over himself on his way back into place.

Harry doesn’t get the chance he’s expecting to savour that first slow drive of his hips  because rather than needing to push he just sinks in, quick and easy and Harry can't help a surprised, questioning little groan as he bottoms out, fully enveloped in smooth wet heat, pelvis flush against Eggsy's arse. 

“Yeah, needed that. I took-  “ Eggsy breaks for a happy, satisfied sigh at the feeling of being filled the way he wants at last. “ - four fingers in the shower.” He says it matter-of-fact, as though the words won't  make the pit iof Harry's stomach drop out like the swoop of a rollercoaster and perhaps it is just that he's so unselfconscious he doesn’t realise what it’s all doing to him. “Reckon I could have done more but the angle’s well awkward ain't it?” 

... As if the logistics of trying to fist yourself in the shower is the sort of thing they discuss regularly, and Harry can't even muster a verbal response, just pushes Eggsy down between the shoulders, draws back and fucks into him again, enjoying the lack of early resistance to penetration from Eggsy’s muscles.

“Still feels good, though, right? For you?”

The natural reply is an exasperated groan, but Harry will make an allowance for the fact Eggsy may not be firing on all cylinders, and indulge his fishing for compliments just this once.  He curls over to nuzzle into the wet hair at Eggsy's nape and kiss the back of his neck, and wonders at how hot his breath must feel on the back of Eggsy's ear when he's so sensitive. Even for him, the heat between their bodies is searing, drawing a sweat up to his skin.

“You feel like heaven. You always do.”

"Go as hard as you want,” Eggsy rumbles into a pillow that he pulls over to shove his face into. “Don't mind if you're rough with me.” He wriggles his arse again and moans when Harry takes that to be exactly the invitation it is -  _ “be rough with me” -  _ by grabbing a handful of the flesh of his side and ramming deep. 

Going straight in at full throttle has its drawbacks: namely that pleasure licks at Harry too quickly, like a flame, taking over his whole body after no more than a few wonderful, punishing minutes; and as vocally, as visibly as Eggsy enjoys the quick, hard fucking it's a waste of this evening’s potential. A quick scrape of nails down Eggsy's back and the answering wail of unchecked pleasure confirm the point, so Harry pulls out, and turns Eggsy over. 

“Don't stop! Please, this is…” Eggsy’s sweating, his eyes wild and pleading and his head drops back into the bedspread as Harry pushes into him again. “Fuck, yes.”

Now Eggsy’s eyes are closed Harry can admire the sight he makes whilst he lies there and enjoys the ride: the wet darkness of his eyelashes, the pink stripe high up on his cheekbones and the bitten fullness of his bottom lip; the way he's dragging his fingertips up the insides of his own thighs and making the most beautifully helpless mewling noise, like he can't quite believe what he's feeling. 

“Is that nice?” Harry lifts Eggsy's leg by the foot, kisses the inside of his knee and then chuckles when Eggsy cries out. Harry nibbles at him, as far up as he can reach by stretching Eggsy's leg out, waiting for him to fight his eyes open to grin at him and bite a touch harder. 

“Mental,” says Eggsy. “My whole body feels like… tingly and amazing and… oh shit, fuck,  _ fuck _ …”

“Are you going to come?”

A moment’s urgent panting, a tense pause  and then Eggsy manages to wriggle in something like a shrug. “Keep feeling like I'm gonna, but -” he gives his cock a few quick tugs and his eyes roll back as the sensation catches up with him,”...still going.”

Harry's not too wounded. He's never once left Eggsy high and dry, and Eggsy had looked close. Sooner than expected, if anything, the drugs playing with his senses and keeping him highly strung and hot, right on the brink… but of course, the very same analgesia will be deadening other nervous responses, and Harry is suddenly, distractedly unsure that orgasm will be happening for Eggsy at all in this state, even whilst his own bears down on him like a stampede. 

“That will be the painkillers. I'm sorry, I should have realised before we got all worked up. Do you want to keep trying, or wind down? Perhaps a cool shower? A massage?” He slows down. Harry’s hands are supposed to be soothing on the side of Eggsy’s face, down over his collarbone, but Eggsy's glare is a lightning bolt thrown from his cloud of bliss.  “Alright, alright. I had to ask.”

He’s game to keep trying. Harry hasn't got to his age without  learning a few tricks, and Eggsy's a big boy and doesn't need Harry to second guess his decisions for him. Besides, he feels amazing, deep and soft and hot for Harry to fuck at his leisure, sighing and moaning all the while.  For Harry stamina has come with age - like a consolation prize on some horrific birthday with a zero on the end - which means that ordinarily when they fuck like this he can outlast Eggsy, see him through to his climax before sparing a moment’s focus for his own. But that comes at the expense of getting to truly appreciate the feel of him and,strangely, resigning himself to the fact it may not be so simple this time frees Harry up to just feel. 

“Eggsy?” Harry has to fight hard to swallow and Eggsy looks up at him, dazed and wanting.  “Eggsy, you feel incredible.”

“Yeah I fuckin’ do.”

“No, I mean-” then he gets it, and sort of laughs, and Eggsy's responding chuckle rippling through his body is almost unbearable. Harry is burning, his hips choosing their own rhythm now, reigniong back to a carefully slow but selfish grinding. “I mean I'm not going to last like this.”

Eggsy whines like that's a reward rather than an apology, and jerks his own cock quicker, though the noises he's making seem to tally closer with Harry's movements than his own. Let off the hook, Harry puts Eggsy's calves up on his shoulders and thrusts deep, and Eggsy’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure. 

“Right there. Ugh, don’t stop.”

“I'm not wearing a condom,” Harry warns, manners aforethought, but Eggsy does not seem at all put off by that particular reminder, nodding urgently with his bottom lip caught between his teeth .

“Fuck yeah. I wanna feel it, keep going,  _ please- _ ”  Eggsy writhes like he's waiting for it, holding his breath and as sod’s law would have it his hedonistic abandon hits a sweet spot for Harry that means he's not going to be able to drag it out, his little moans and  _ yes _ es in Harry's ear, his nails digging hard enough into Harry's back that he knows he'll have marks, it's just too much. 

“Eggsy, darling I…” he swallows hard but finds he's got even less time than he thought. He can feel Eggsy’s desperation in the urgent clutching around his cock.  “ … _ oh god,  _ I'm going to come.” 

“Yes, Harry, come in me, fuck, yes-”  Harry doesn't know if it's for his benefit that Eggsy keeps moaning words out;  he certainly doesn't need any additional motivation to pound into him with all the controlled effort he can muster, concentrating on his own pleasure because the more he does the louder Eggsy’s cursing and keening gets. He’s sometimes talkative but he’s never been quite  _ this _ wanton with it and it’s with the thought of next door listening to him getting fucked and  _ begging for it _ that Harry comes, clinging tight, savouring the thundering rush of his climax, eking it out for a last few thrusts in the vague hope that it might just push Eggsy over the top and if nothing else it’s beautiful to come down from the crest of orgasm with Eggsy’s enjoyment ringing in his ears.

“Yes,  _ yes, fuck, fuck…  _ fuck!” The last one is spat out in anger as Eggsy flops back from being tensed  up in anticipation. 

Panting, Harry rubs at Eggsy's side until he can gather enough breath to reassure him, and the strength to peel himself off him, ignoring the whine the wet slide out prompts because well, he  _ had  _ warned him. He'll not be left wanting for long.

“I couldn’t, I’m not- ” he trails off, sounding for the first time a bit distressed. Through his sated dimness, Harry spares a moment’s fury for whoever has at some point had the indescribable pleasure of Eggsy’s body and left him wanting, for him to feel he needs to explain to Harry that he isn’t finished. 

That’s not an experience he’ll be repeating. Not on Harry Hart’s fucking watch. 

“It’s okay, darling, we’ll get you there. Tell me what you want.”

Eggsy whimpers. Harry kisses his chest whilst he waits for an answer; closes his lips around Eggsy’s nipple, bites at the firm flesh of his pectoral and is rewarded by Eggsy grabbing the back of his hair and urging him on.

“More.”

Harry’s fingers touch gently at where Eggsy’s stretched and clenching, stroking through smeared lube and the come dribbling from him to push slowly into his body, meeting no resistance. “More like this?” Changing the angle of his hand, Harry slips a third finger into him, kissing at the flush on Eggsy’s throat, tasting the strength of the salt there and wanting to suck his skin clean. 

“Yeah.” Eggsy tosses his head on the pillow, mindless with want . “Please, anything.”

It's going to Harry's head, this neediness: like it's Harry that's making Eggsy so desperate for it, rather than the chemicals racing round his body. But that doesn't matter: it's Harry that's going to give him what he needs, just like he promised. Harry that will get him through this: where Eggsy alone might have had to give up, exhausted and frustrated, Harry will make him see stars. 

Harry rubs his leg. “You're doing so well. You just keep yourself…” rather than explaining, he takes Eggsy's hand, squirts some lube onto his fingers and urges him towards himself. If he thought there might be some reticence he was dead wrong: Eggsy rubs at where Harry's fingers slowly withdraw from him and replaces them with his own without a second thought.

The biggest challenge for Harry is to wrench his gaze away from that. It would take him longer than Eggsy can wait to get hard again, and this isn't about him, but the arousal the sight of Eggsy playing with himself creates in him is heavy and sparkling, settling as a happy throb in his lower body. It's better because it's not for show: Eggsy will always let him watch if he asks, but the unselfconscious earnest with which he touches himself now is it's own thrill, seeing him squirm shamelessly on his fingers to get them to where they make his eyes droop closed again, and shuddering. 

With him so occupied for the moment, Harry assesses the scope of the toy box from under their bed as though choosing a weapon. Nothing vibrating:  Eggsy won't be able to cope with that right now: he doesn’t want to overstimulate him and dash his hopes of orgasm altogether. Not the prostate toys, not the glass wand, not that bastard fucking tentacle thing they'd thought was such a great idea and he still doesn't have a clue what to do with. 

“How about this?” He raises a toy for Eggsy's approval, trying specifically not to ‘brandish’ but he fears it can't be helped. 

The answer from the bed is a low groan which Harry confidently interprets as positive. The toy he's selected - he supposes it's a dildo, of a fashion, although Harry personally finds the word almost offensively ridiculous - is formed of three oval bulbs of hard rubber, each noticeably larger than the one above, sat on top of a suction cup which they will not be making use of today because Harry would be highly surprised and almost disappointed if Eggsy could hold his weight up on his legs at this point.

After a pass over with a wipe from the box - where the fluff comes from, Harryill never know, he would swear blind you could put sex toys in an entity sterile environment and somehow they would concoct their own lint from thin air - he lubes it up. He considers getting Eggsy to look at that, because the crystal gleam of the clear liquid over the shiny black rubber is strangely satisfying even to the sober mind, but one glance at him sprawled naked and waiting on the bed, absently thrusting his hips up to fuck into his own hand puts paid to any such fanciful nonsense in its tracks. 

Harry plants a gentle, self-indulgent kiss at the slackened pink rim of Eggsy’s hole and listens to him groan as he starts to push the toy in. The first bead is maybe an inch or so across, Harry's never measured it: an easy tease, or pre-fuck stretch but in this state it slips in to Eggsy effortlessly, like it's barely touching him, and his body settles eagerly round the notch before the second bead. 

Ordinarily Harry would warn him before proceeding further, but Eggsy's barely felt the first and it's not significantly different to Harry’s cock - a cigarette paper and a prayer wider, perhaps - and as soon as he pushes on the base Eggsy's body sucks the bulb in smoothly and Harry swallows down a needless groan as if its his cock Eggsy’s body is clutching at like that.

Eggsy moans happily and rocks his hips. The length of the top two bulbs combined is about right to angle the rounded tip into his prostate; the third and largest bead of the toy sits comfortably outside his body: mostly a tempting threat, and it makes a convenient hand grip for Harry to start moving it inside him, thrusting it back and forth slowly but with ease. 

It's just as well Eggsy is so wrapped up in his own sensations that he won't notice quite how transfixed Harry is on the sight of the toy stretching him, of the curve of the bulb pushing and pulling at the wet pink skin of his rim, popping in and out. Harry would have thought he might be frustrated at being so unavoidably, lavishly excited but unable to perform again, but he couldn’t have turned it around quite this quickly in his twenties and what experience has given him is a lack of urgency; an ability to enjoy the beauty of this and focus entirely on Eggsy, on his comfort as well as his satisfaction so there’ll be no edge of pain to distract him when he’s built up again and finally ready to come. He finds himself slck jawed, drool gathering at the sight, and on a whim instead of the obvious he takes Eggsy's hand and spits in it before wraping it back around his cock for him.  


Eggsy _howls._

Unwilling to divert from task, Harry simply follows the pace set by the rocking of Eggsy’s hips until he’s thrusting with the toy in earnest, picking back up to mimic the speed they were fucking at. Eggsy falls back into moaning with it, humming a sound that turns into “more.”

“Harder? Quicker?”

“ _ More. _ Can you get the big bit in?”

Can he? Its substantially thicker than anything else he's seen Eggsy take, and they’ve never  tried. Never even really thought about trying, but desperate times call for desperate measures and Harry wants Eggsy’s orgasm as badly as Eggsy does at this point, if not worse. 

“I don’t know. I can try. I don't want to hurt you.”

“It won't hurt. Please.” Eggsy spreads his legs and tries to hook around Harry’s hips with his heels, “Harry  _ please,  _  I need it, I'll tell you if it's too much.”

Harry nudges at the base of the toy and feels it press back, pulls it and feels Eggsy’s muscles squeeze to keep it just where it is. In spite of himself he wants to hurl it across the room and fuck Eggsy himself, but that’s not going to be happening and he has to live with it, so he leans the gentlest pressure on the flare of the suction cup with his palm and watches in rapt wonder as Eggsy’s body clenches, flares, opens up and starts to take the biggest bulb in. 

“Is that alright? Not hurting? Jesus, Eggsy…” 

A wild moan is the first response.  Harry can’t believe Eggsy’s enjoying being pulled so wide open but the pleasure is scrawled blatantly on the slackness of his face. It’s still not enough. “Please, please just fuck me.”  Harry shifts his hand against the base of the toy and tries to think about how that will translate down the length of it without actually visualising it because he doesn’t think he can cope.  “Fuck, so good. More. Come on.”

“Why don’t you go on top, darling? I’m so scared of hurting you, I’ll-”  He doesn’t even get the sentence out before Eggsy’s scrambling, weak and shaking but determined, over onto all fours and then across to straddle Harry’s lap. This close his eyes are lazy and wet, pink and unfocussed on anything but his drawn out sexual gratification and Harry hates what that does to him, but giving his boy what he needs is the least he can do. He spreads his fingers either side of the toy’s neck before the suction cup and holds it flat to his thigh, nice and steady for Eggsy to lower himself onto. 

Eggsy sinks all the way down until he’s sitting on Harry's hand  with a long, low groan that Harry echoes. His body may not be the equal to another round just yet but that doesn't put a dent in his appreciation and his body thrums with suffused pleasure that’s just as good, somehow. At least he’ll remember this in minute detail, every flicker of bliss across Eggsy’s face, every pull of his muscles whilst he wriggles for comfort and then for the thrill, working out what feels good. Eggsy lifts himself and drops down again, eyes screwing shut and mouth falling open as the solid rubber of the toy fills him up.   In any other state the stretch, the pronounced texture of the ridges would be much too intense for him but as it is it seems barely enough, and he starts to bounce. It’s an incredible thing to watch, and Harry’s hard pushed to remember why he shouldn’t simply lie back and enjoy the show until a huff of frustration reminds him how they got there.

“Be careful of your leg, my love.” Eggsy’s injury’s all but been forgotten but Harry will be for the absolute high jump if his return to work is delayed another week because he busted his stitches doing  _ this. _  “Let me help you.” 

Quick as a whip,  Eggsy lifts up and stretches his wounded leg out so that it's extended past Harry's hip. It's not clear, then, if he loses his balance, doesn't have as much strength as he expects or does it on purpose: instead of keeping his weight on his good leg, he sits right down.

“ _ Fffuuuck.”   _ Harry's about to fuss at him again, to ask if he’s alright, but once Eggsy's eyes flutter shut again he bites his bottom lip and rocks his hips, ever so cautiously, a forward and back shift that keeps the toy fully seated whilst he moves.  _ “ _ Fuck, yeah. That’s it. _ ” _

“Is that better? Are you full enough now? Is that what you want?”

Eggsy clasps Harry's face into his neck, his elbows pushing on Harry's shoulders as he rides the toy in his lap.  “Oh god, keep talking.”

“Good boy, that’s beautiful.”  Eggsy sighs with pleasure under the praise. Harry tries not to overuse these shortcuts in case the thrill wears off, not that it's showing any signs of it, but it’s the easiest route to take and Eggsy looks pained, writhing in fevered pursuit of the orgasm he's no longer sure of; frantic, and Harry will do whatever it takes. “Gorgeous, insatiable thing. I wish I could fuck you again.” 

“Mm, yeah, fuck me.” Eggsy is lost to sense, but if it feels like he’s getting what he wants that’s enough for Harry, who just digs his teeth into the skin around Eggsy’s collarbone and his nails into his hips to spur him on. When he trails his hand over and  down the slick skin of Eggsy’s chest Eggsy grabs it in his own and wraps them both around his cock and the heat, the throbbing pulse in it, is almost frightening. 

_ God, he needs it.  _ And what he probably needs, knowing Eggsy, is to know what it does for Harry, to see him like this.

“Next time, we do this  _ before  _ I have you, yes?  Get you all loose and wet and open so you’ll be so easy for me to fuck when I want to. Will I not be enough for you then, Eggsy? Will you want more? Need it, like you do now?“

Eggsy nods mindlessly, breath hitching, eyelids flickering as his eyes roll underneath though whether in agreement that he will or just that this is the right line to pursue isn't clear, doesn't matter. Harry suspects any obscenity in the right tone of voice would be having the same effect so he just keeps going, stroking quickly, hips shifting to rock the toy whilst Eggsy rides it.   “Maybe I could put a couple of fingers in you as well as my cock.” 

Eggsy speeds their hands up and the “ _ fuck, Harry, yes”  _ again could be an answer or - hope soars - indication that Eggsy has finally felt himself tip past that point at which climax becomes a certainty. Harry aims what he hopes will be a coup de grace in a molten rumble right against the sweaty hair at Eggsy’s temple. 

“Think how full you'd be then. How tight and perfect for me, all stretched and full…”

Eggsys face freezes on a silent scream and Harry daren’t breathe, daren’t interrupt their movement, daren’t so much as blink in case he puts him off and the focus means he gets to watch every frozen moment of Eggsy shattering into orgasm at last: the tension that twists the muscles of his stomach to straining; the shudder of breath as he starts to come that turns into a moan and then a hissed, breathless “ _ fuck _ !” as it just keeps going on, muscles spasming, thick endless ropes of it painting his belly and dripping down over their hands, pooling in the trench of his groin and Harry’s lap. 

Harry lifts him off the toy whilst he's still twitching through the last of his climax, before it gets too uncomfortable, am finds himself pulled into hungry, unexpected kisses as he lays Eggsy back into the bed to recover. For a moment he fears he might still not be spent but gradually the fierceness of his grip relaxes, and Eggsy flops back into the bed like his strings have all been cut, murmuring something nonsensical that sounds like gratitude.

“Better?”

“Nnnngh.”

“God, that was beautiful.”

“Mhhmm.” At length, Eggsy breaks into a bright grin, but his eyes remain lazy and heavy-lidded. He gives Harry a weak thumbs-up. “Yep.  You like it when I’m gagging for it, don’t ya.”

“You're impossibly gorgeous when you're needy, yes.” Harry gives him a kiss on the forehead: Eggsy’s hair is dripping. “ You have no idea how badly I wanted to fuck you again.”

Eggsy stretches like a cat in the sun, wincing very slightly and then fading into a lazy laugh: his voice is _ ruined. _ “I can go another round when you can… “ Harry doubts that, if his inability to sit up or keep his eyes fully open is anything to go by.  “But I reckon it'd be like throwing a sausage down Old Kent Road at this point.”

Dear  _ god _ .  

“...And thank you for so comprehensively putting me off. “

Eggsy yawns into the crook of his elbow. “Welcome.”

The yawn may be strategic, just in case Harry was thinking about making him go for another shower, although he should know better, really: the combination of bright, fresh sweat and come on Eggsy's skin undercut with the sharp sweetness of artificial  candied rhubarb and custard is Harry's oddly specific idea of heaven. He does, however, fetch a flannel and sort the worst of it out; rolls Eggsy off the soaked duvet into his arms and then back into the bed with a new one tucked around him. 

“This was a long way to go to get me to give you an actual sponge bath, you know. I said I'd help any time.”

“You offered to help me in the bathroom,” Eggsy squints at him through one eye. “I know what you're like.”

Harry tries for prim. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Fortunately, he’s rescued by the alarm for Eggsy's next dose of painkillers sounds and Eggsy shrugs as he reaches for the bottle.

“Don't feel like I need ‘em really but I don't wanna wake up at arsehole o'clock in fucking agony again.”

“Very wise.”

It's that bedtime dose that tips the balance. Harry is hoping that having tucked him up, by the time he emerges from the shower Eggsy will be on his way to soft and painless sleep. He is, instead, laying sprawled sideways with the bottle of lube held aloft over his face, squinting at the lamp through it as he tilts the bottle from side to side, apparently fascinated to the point of gawping by the way the liquid glints in the light. 

Harry can't help a laugh. “Oh dear.” He settles into bed and yanks Eggsy as gently as he can back into a position where he can reasonably get the duvet over both of them. Eggsy seems to be fine, snuggling immediately into Harry’s chest and wriggling his limbs free into the cool air, albeit with some difficulty as his coordination seems to have thoroughly abandoned him.vHe dials through to Morgana to be on the safe side. 

“Good Doctor. I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Muhuhuh! Bone!” 

Reflexively, Harry wants to tell Eggsy not to be juvenile - in professional company, they both know Harry would be throwing stones from a glass house on that one behind closed doors -  but his giggling is infectious so what comes out when he answers is: 

“Your painkillers have broken my Eggsy.” He illustrates the point by holding up Eggsy's hand and softly dropping it into his dazed, blushing face .Not only does Eggsy not resist, but he laughs into it stupidly for a couple of moments until he catches a finger in his mouth and then eagerly starts sucking on it. Harry momentarily loses the power of speech. “Right. He has the attention span and the appetite of a hyperactive ten year old, his reaction speeds are nonexistent-”

“And they make you horny as _fuck,”_ Eggsy interjects in a sudden flash of clarity, around where he's tonguing at his thumb.  Harry must look aghast because Morgana starts laughing. 

“Ah. We had noted people reported feeling a little… amorous . Are you sure  _ you _ haven't broken him, Harry?”

“Excuse me this is -”

“Yes he has,” says Eggsy, very plainly in the background, having given up sexually harassing his hand and put both behind his head to splay his bruised, bitten chest out. He was nowhere near this coherent a minute ago. Harry starts to think he's doing it on purpose. 

“This is most definitely a side effect of the pills, thank you.” Harry wants it noted that he has not in fact fucked Eggsy until his brains turned to jelly, although it's probably never been a closer call. “He's been a bit loopy all day but the last dose seems to have  _ really  _ been the ticket.”

“So enjoy it,” she shrugs. “ It's harmless. Pop your glasses on him a sec?” There's some tapping and then the doctor nods. “Vitals are fine. Heart rate a  _ little  _ elevated… any sort of  _ vigorous activity _ in the last half an hour?” 

Harry obviously doesn't need to answer her.

“Yes!” Eggsy calls out from the pillows, sounding pleased, like he knows the right answer to a question he’s already forgotten. Adorable menace. He’s taken up an interest in his fingers again, staring at them glistening where he’s been licking them, which Harry absolutely cannot look at at this moment in time. 

Morgana covers the snigger she obviously can't help. “Plenty of water, some dry toast or something if he can manage it and he’s feeling nauseous or anything. Would you like us to book you tomorrow off to look after him?”

Harry stoically ignores the dubious emphasis on those last few words, and is about to answer defensively when he hears a choked snort from behind him and realises that Eggsy has somehow managed to fall asleep near instantaneously with his own hand squashing his face.  

“I think that might be wise, if you can manage.” 

 

 

  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Poetically, this fic got derailed partway through writing when I dislocated my shoulder blade and ended up on a hefty whack of prescrition painkillers which did very little but annihilate my imagination, although that line about putting your hand in your tea trying to get crisps MIGHT have only appeared after that little episode.
> 
> I've been, and am, super stuck with writer's block so please do keep the comments, feedback and kudos coming if you enjoyed this because I can't articulate fully how much they brighten my days when I'm feeling creatively dead inside.
> 
> Thank youfor reading. You can poke me on Tumblr - randomactsofviolence.


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